I Am the Dark
by friendlyneighborhoodfairy
Summary: Freed is a killer. There's no way Laxus could accept him. He has darkness inside of him. But at least that darkness could save Laxus's life. {Fraxus. Some injury description.}


**A/N:** A week late, this is for the LGBTales Pride event. I wrote it using the Day 1 and 2 prompts: "Through all the hard times, I'm on your side" + "Wonder if you notice me." Fraxus angst with a happy ending. (Fun mix of 1st, 2nd, and 3rd POVs.) Enjoy!

* * *

**I Am The Dark**

I wonder if you notice me.

I've watched you for a long time, Laxus.

With your lightning and power and sternness and disregard for others' opinions. You are your own man, and I am in awe of you.

I was for a while, watching you across the guild, always from afar. And then one day, when I was in the middle of a bloody rampage, you put your hand on my chest and forced me to look into your eyes. That was the day my life started. The day you first saw me.

After that, I caught your eyes following me across the room sometimes. I felt your gaze on my back, and I wondered if you were worried for me, or wary of me, or skeptical of me. I wondered if you could ever trust me after what you saw me do that day.

I've made it my mission to show you I can be what you need. Not to show you that I'm not a monster—I know I am. But I'll show you that even though I have this darkness inside me, I can still be of use to you. I can still have value.

Nobody will save me: I have to save myself.

* * *

Freed ran down corridors in a state of focus born of panic. Every door he passed he slammed open, then flew on when it wasn't what he wanted.

Laxus was here; he had to be here.

He'd been taken from them. When the team was attacked from behind on a mission, Laxus turned back to cover the Raijinshuu; the next time Freed looked behind them, he saw a strong wind beat back Laxus's lightning and slice over Laxus's skin like a knives.

Laxus disappeared into the whirlwind.

They tried to get at him, go after him, but the wind pushed them back. By the time the storm cleared, Laxus was gone, and Freed had never felt such panic.

He had failed.

As the days rolled on, they searched, while hoping Laxus would return any moment dragging some culprit behind him. But Laxus didn't come back. Nor could they find him. Everything was wrong and Freed was screaming inside. This had to be a nightmare, except Freed couldn't sleep, terrible thoughts racing around his head, and so he avoided bed and kept searching.

Laxus was somewhere.

Everyone chipped in to help. Fairy Tail was nothing if not persistent, and Freed not knowing where Laxus was had the motivational power of Natsu on crack. They'd traced whispers and rumors, and located these catacombs, where half a dozen of Fairy Tail's teams infiltrated in what turned out to be a nasty battle against traps in pure darkness.

With Freed's magic, he could see in the dark, and once he knew they had it under control, he darted ahead, deeper into hallways that were dank and winding.

If Laxus wasn't here, Freed was going to murder whoever he needed to in order to find out where he was.

Freed flung the final door of this passage open—

"Laxus!"

As he ran into the room, dread clawed in his insides. Chains stretched from Laxus's wrists to a loop in the wall, but it wasn't just that. Laxus was curled on his side, a loose-flung arm covering his chest, but Freed could see blood under his elbow, deep black bruising stretching from his ribs up to his shoulders.

"Laxus…"

Laxus still hadn't raised his head, and Freed was magnetic, approaching him trembling and touching his cheek. That was bruised too. When he tipped Laxus's head up, Laxus opened one un-swollen eye.

His face went through several painful expressions, from shock to confusion to shame. Not all of his face could move due to bruising, and that made the expressions worse.

Tremors ran through Laxus's body, arms jerking against the chains, and a tear slipped loose.

"Hey, hey," Freed said, soothing, cupping Laxus's face to get him to focus. "It's okay now. I'm here. I'm really here, Laxus. I'm going to bring you home."

Something unacknowledged was racing in Freed's chest. It took a single rune to shatter the manacles, and Laxus collapsed onto his stomach. Freed caught him, carefully rolling him onto his back.

"It's going to be okay," he kept saying. "I'm here. Your family is here."

"Freed," Laxus exhaled, eyes closing as Freed cradled his head.

"Yes. I came for you, like I promised. You're alright now. It's…"

He trailed off seeing the lines across Laxus's tattoos. Not the old pale scars which the tattoos were meant to cover: fresh gouges around where his lacrima was. As Laxus's arm rolled away, Freed saw that an entire scoop of flesh had been removed. Simply gone. Skin ripped away, muscle removed—

He gasped. Couldn't breathe. That was bone visible in the wound. And between those bared ribs, cuts plunged deeper into his chest cavity.

"Laxus," he said, voice breaking, "Bickslow is going to carry you out of here."

Laxus's breathing picked up, anxious, but Freed held his hand and continued to use a soothing tone as he pulled out a lacrima and gave Bicks his location.

The groans and wheezing of Laxus's pain squeezed Freed's heart. No, no, it shouldn't be like this. It should've been Freed. It should always be Freed.

While he waited, Freed hovered his hand over the blood on Laxus's chest. He was too terrified to touch the wound, afraid of infecting it or worsening it or hurting Laxus—but afraid too about the fluid seeping from the wet edges.

Bickslow crashed in, sliding to his knees at Laxus's other side while Laxus's eyes trailed to his face.

Freed swiped the gauze from Bickslow's hand without speaking, pressing it over the wound. Laxus didn't even cry out. He just exhaled, slumping as if his body had given up the fight.

Freed felt cold.

"Can you carry him?" Freed asked, Bickslow nodding and wrapping Laxus's arm carefully around his neck. "I need you to get him out of here."

"Where are you going?" Bicks asked, looking up sharply.

Freed curled his hand carefully to preserve Laxus's smeared blood on his fingers. He would need it.

"Don't worry about me."

Bickslow didn't argue.

As soon as he saw Bickslow and Laxus on their way, back down the corridor into Fairy Tail-controlled territory, Freed turned the other way and started walking.

The passage took a bend, curving down stairs and into another hall with fewer torches. It was windier here, labyrinthine, with doors and tunnels leading off in strange places.

Freed only had one goal.

The oval lacrima in his hand had Laxus's fresh blood on it, mingling with Freed's from an earlier wound. Laxus was drained and weak, and Freed had no qualms in using this lacrima now.

He pushed magic into it and new power bloomed inside him.

Senses heightening, he trailed along the corridor, treading softly. His hearing perked at a shuffle, a deep breath. As he drew closer, he dissected the smells, ascertaining that only one person was down this way.

They tried to ambush him. Foolish. Even without the lacrima, Freed was formidable. A rune on his chest, and he changed in a wailing instant, his body twisting and stretching until he was anything but himself. The demon had emerged.

It was a short fight. Sure, the mage had wind magic, and talent with it too, but Freed had wings, darkness, and claws like razors. He slashed her, felt her skin give way, and smelled blood.

He chased her down the tunnel, throwing explosive bursts that a keen observer would've recognized for what they were: lightning. She couldn't escape him: he had the senses and spells of a Dragon Slayer, and with this Dark body, his speed was unmatched.

Finally he cornered her. A blow sent her sprawling on her back, and Freed stood over her, one clawed foot on her belly.

"Any last words?" he growled.

"Guild mages don't take life," she spat, blood at the corner of her mouth.

"You think I'm a guild mage?" Freed grinned. He held up his hand, the charcoal skin clear of any marks. "Not in this form."

Her eyes rounded into confusion and scared shock—

"I _am_ the darkness," Freed said, and stepped down with his weight.

He could feel her ribs cracking beneath his foot. How funny the way organs moved fluidly with the body's motion; but under enough pressure, they burst like grapes shot from their skins.

He walked away with bloody footprints, and did not return to himself until he took care of every denizen of the place.

* * *

Laxus fluttered his eyes open several times before he really tried to wake up.

The first time was a vague blur of light that he could only remember in all ancillary way, like a movie.

The second time was more light, with sound and things that were overwhelming. He didn't try to understand.

The third time, people were talking to him, and pieces of his body hovered in his awareness with intense clarity. He felt swallowed in his body, much too big for how tiny and tired his mind was, and he fell asleep listening to the voices.

Finally, the fourth time, he didn't exactly come to consciousness: it was like waking up, dreams fading as he began to take in his senses one by one. There was touch first—one hand aching, the other warm, his body hot but also muted as if on painkillers. Then sound—whirring and background noise, but mostly silence, peaceful and calm, and someone's breathing nearby. Scents began to come through, bringing the definite and relieving sense of the guildhall; the infirmary; Makarov and the Raijinshuu. Hints of Porlyusica too. Made sense.

His tongue tasted cotton: dry and thick. Definitely on painkillers.

When he finally opened his eyes, the room was lit by curtained windows, the sunlight thin and not too bright. He immediately knew the green beside him: Freed's hair. After a little bit, he discovered that the warmth on his hand was from Freed's fingers wrapped tightly around it.

Freed was asleep.

Laxus took the silence as a chance to get his bearings, looking at the familiar grains of wood, remembering what had happened, testing a deep breath and finding his chest hurt but not excruciatingly.

Rousing, Freed yawned and shook his head. He blinked around checking things before he realized, quite suddenly, that Laxus was looking at him.

"Oh," he gasped, sitting up, eyes wide. "Thank Goddess."

With a squeeze to Laxus's hand, Freed leaned closer.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Laxus nodded.

Relief washed over Freed's face.

"You're… Laxus, we were so worried." Freed chuckled, a sound tinged with hysteria that made hair rise on the back of Laxus's neck. "The bruising on your neck…Porlyusica couldn't tell if you hit your head or simply were restrained. When you didn't wake up…"

Shaking his head again, Freed focused on the blankets and disengaged his hand from Laxus's.

"I'm glad you're okay. Let me call the others."

Freed went to the door, and Laxus laid back to contemplate this. Had he been hit on the head? He remembered being tied down, ropes and straps and restraints added until only his eyes could move, and that's when…

"Your lacrima's still intact," Freed said, coming back to the chair. The infirmary door was cracked open behind him, and Laxus could hear someone running off down the hallway.

"I know," he rasped. "Made it hard for them. When they figured out howta… But lacrima's defenses. Kept going off when they tried to take it."

"Even though your magic was sealed?" Freed asked in surprise.

Laxus nodded.

"Electrocuted one," he said.

He had no control over it, but it still disquieted him watching that body slump to the ground. It was the seventh time he'd seen someone die, and it never got easier.

Fingers tingling and cold, he stretched the hand Freed had been gripping.

"You used my magic?" he asked. He didn't know how he knew; he just did.

Freed nodded, fingering his sleeve as he looked down. "Yes. Needed your senses to find the mage who did this. I'm sorry if it drained you."

Laxus shook his head. "Doesn't work like that. My ether levels aren't affected; all you did was steal my ability to do those spells."

"I figured, since you were unconscious, it was okay," Freed said sadly. "I'm glad we found you."

"Thank you," Laxus murmured, brushing his fingers against Freed's elbow.

"Of course." Freed met his eyes, serious. "We always will. You know that."

"I'm still grateful. You might've just saved my life."

Sighing, Freed laid his head on the edge of Laxus's bed and let out a long, long breath.

Laxus continued to watch him, until Bickslow and Ever burst into the room and Freed stood back to let them crowd around him.

* * *

I'm scared that you know, Laxus. It's an irrational fear. It's not like you have any knowledge or memories about how I used your magic; none of that transfers over, thank gods. There's no way for you to know what I did with it.

But I'm so ashamed, and that shame crushes my windpipe sometimes, makes it hard to breathe when I'm around you, wondering when you'll point your finger at me and tell me I'm no longer allowed by your side.

I've killed dozens of people. This wasn't a first. And you know that—know some of it. You know there's darkness in my past. You've never asked; never made me tell you. I've always taken that as you being gracious to me, but maybe…maybe it's because you know the truth would disgust you.

What you don't know is that I've killed since _Then_: since we met, since you stopped me that one time and made me face what I was and what I was doing, since we became teammates and then friends and began to share our lives to such an extent you probably think you know everything about me nowadays. I wish you did.

But there have been incidences. You asked me not to kill, but sometimes a person violates the most basic of codes and I just can't let them walk free.

When Bickslow got mugged, I found the man and beat him within an inch of his life—not a kill, but it came close. We took that one mission, and I told you I had a bad feeling; what I didn't tell you was that I found a pair stalking us. I buried them in the forest. When we captured that cult, there was a woman about to kill her child, so I killed her first.

A man I thought I knew tried to do things, to touch me—tried to rape me, so I snapped his neck.

Half a dozen or so murders I've committed since becoming your teammate, and you have no idea.

But now there are dozens more corpses on my hands. It makes me sick—not because I regret it, but because every time I step down this road, I become less and less the person you think I am. The person you believe I can be.

You trust me, but I've done nothing but fail and disobey.

I live in fear of the day you find out. I hate this fear. More than anything, I want you to know me—all of me—but I know that's a person you don't want to know. What if you find out who I really am?

I wish you would just push me away. I'm not strong enough to push you away myself. I love you, Laxus. And I'm so unworthy.

* * *

Bickslow noticed Freed receding from them. Being quieter, standing off to the side, speaking only to finish others' thoughts. It took him a while to realize it was more than a few off-days. Freed had always been subtle. But he'd always been decisive, too.

The team wasn't going on missions while Laxus healed, and one day as they hung out in the infirmary, they started passing around ideas for tackling a dark guild that had been in the news the past few months. Bickslow realized Freed hadn't said anything yet.

"What do you think, Captain?" he asked, grinning at Freed.

The other two turned too, and under their combined gaze, Freed cracked a little.

"I like it," he said. "These are good ideas."

That was it.

* * *

You're shocked when Evergreen finds an excuse to stay back with you when Freed and Bickslow leave.

"Laxus." She fixes you with a hard look. "What are we going to do about Freed?"

You blink at her, dumbly, because you have no idea what she's talking about. Maybe you do, an inkling, but the things in your heart are so deep and so private that you don't think of them as things which Evergreen would know about. That world is so disconnected from the rest of your life that if someone even tried to talk about your complicated relationship with Freed, you'd just laugh confusedly and ask them what they're talking about.

"It's…" She pauses. "Look, I don't want to blame you, alright? So don't take it that way. It's not your fault that you were chained up and all nasty-looking, but the fact is, you were a terrible sight. When Freed found you…Bickslow says he's never seen Freed look paler. And then Freed disappeared. He came back hours later and there was blood, Laxus, on his sleeves and some on his trousers. I think…" She shivers. "I think he hurt himself."

The words pour out and land on you with all the gentleness of stone.

"What? Wait—_what?_" you bark.

"I think he broke, seeing you like that. You're never the one who's…helpless and injured. Freed—he—you're important in his life. I think that searching for you for those two weeks put all these cracks in him, and when he found you, he shattered. And it's Freed. He's very carefully keeping us from seeing he's hurt. He's hurting _a lot._ He's afraid of people seeing him like this, and I'm scared for him."

You stare at her, and it takes you a moment to notice you're breathing hard. With concentration, you slow your heart down and take even breaths.

"I'll talk to him," you say, but she shakes her head.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Maybe he won't talk to you, but he talks to me. If I ask, he'll tell me what's up."

If he's breaking, he needs to be taken care of. If he's shattered, he needs to be loved. Those are things you can do. Things you _want_ to do.

"Laxus, the way he is with you…"

She bites her lip, and you wonder if she's going to say it, to bring up the fact that your _kind of relationship_ isn't normal for a friendship at all and that what you're really trying to do is fill the place of a significant other so he doesn't go looking for someone else. Maybe she'll tell you that you maybe should stop. It's not healthy.

Instead, she just says, "Be careful."

* * *

"How many?" Laxus asked.

They were alone in the infirmary, Freed dithering around Laxus's bed and coming up with things to keep his hands busy. At Laxus's words, he looked over and frowned.

Laxus looked dead serious.

"How many what?" Freed asked.

"You know what," Laxus said. "How many?"

"I don't—"

"How many people did you kill for me?"

Absolute silence slammed down.

After too many seconds, Freed said, not meeting Laxus's eyes, "This last time, or all together?"

Laxus raised his eyebrows.

"Seventeen," Freed said, and Laxus's mouth fell open.

"How did you even find that many people?" Laxus asked.

Freed blinked at him, and Laxus closed his mouth and sighed.

"I'm sorry I put you through that," he said.

"You—?" Freed shook his head, confused. "You've never asked me to kill anyone. You've asked me _not_ to kill people."

"But you did anyway. Because of me."

"Not because of you," Freed snapped.

"Then why?"

"Because I'm a fucked-up human being, just like the day you first saw me."

"You weren't—no," Laxus protested, but Freed rode over him.

"You stopped me mid-massacre, remember?"

"First of all, you're not fucked up. Secondly." Laxus tilted his head. "That's not the first time I saw you."

Freed took a step back.

"It's not?"

"I saw you long before that."

The hitch in Freed's breath was audible to both of them. Reaching out, Laxus caught Freed's hand before Freed could back up beyond armslength of the bed. Freed jerked like a trap had shut on his hand.

"Laxus—" His plea was soft and scared.

"It's okay, Freed. Just breathe. You're okay."

As Freed did so, Laxus massaged Freed's fingers in his own, drawing him a nudge nearer.

"You're okay now," Laxus went on. "You're with me. And I'm okay, too. Everything is going to be okay, including you."

"I—no," Freed breathed.

"Yes."

"No! I killed people, and you…"

Freed tried to pull his hand back, other arm wrapping around his stomach. Jolts went through him as if hit with blows, and Laxus forcefully drew him the rest of the way until Freed sat on the bed, trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Laxus," he chattered, teeth rattling in his head. "F-Fuck, I'm so sorry. It's so messed up."

"You're not," Laxus said, thumb sliding over Freed's knuckles.

"Well something is," Freed said sarcastically.

"I just want to make sure you're okay."

Laxus's gentleness and concern were like little fingers tugging at Freed's chest.

"I've killed over eighty people in my life, Laxus," Freed said quietly. Laxus still held his hand, and Freed pressed on, wondering whether those fingers would pull away. "The majority of them were before we were friends, but there have been some since then. And now these ones as well."

"I bet you always had a good reason," Laxus said, looking up at him.

Freed thought of the night he'd been more terrified than ever in his life. The fear over Laxus's disappearance had been bad, a broken fear, the kind that came when your soul was on the line. But that other night, a man had made him feel primal fear, a fight for his body.

He'd shattered the man's skull, sat in the blood, wrapped his arms around himself, and cried until sunrise.

But that was a kill people understood. Even when they disagreed, they still understood.

Not all of the people Freed murdered were for a reason Laxus would think good enough.

"I killed people because they threatened the person I loved," he said. "They had weapons that could nullify incredibly powerful magic, and they were going to…" He shrugged.

"That doesn't sound unreasonable to me," Laxus offered.

"Remember when Bickslow got beat up and mugged?"

Laxus nodded.

"I killed that person too."

"He's family. You protect your family, Freed. That's a core instinct. I really like that you're protective."

"I kill people, Laxus."

"I know."

"You don't like that."

Laxus inhaled. "I try not to kill, but that's me. You're you. I wouldn't like it if you killed just anyone, but you're not like that. You protect people, and you do it well, and if your way involves killing certain terrible people, I'm not the person who can judge you."

"Someone assaulted me," Freed blurted, voice cracking.

"What?" Laxus squeezed his hand, face breaking into sadness. "Gods, Freed. Did you kill them?"

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry."

Swallowing, Freed met Laxus's eyes, surprised by the emotions he saw. He expected a nod, for Laxus to say, _He deserved it._ Laxus looked heartbroken instead, reaching up with soothing slowness to touch Freed's cheek.

"I wish you hadn't gone through that," Laxus whispered.

"It doesn't…" Freed reached up and put his hand over Laxus's. "It doesn't hurt, or upset me, or whatever it does for other people."

Laxus's eyes widened, still so sad. "You're allowed to feel things, Freed."

"But I don't. Taking life…is normal for me. The blood doesn't bother me. The dead body. Death is just another stage of life. It just is."

"I didn't mean killing him," Laxus said. "I wish you hadn't been assaulted at all."

Freed blinked. His surprise, if anything, made Laxus sadder.

"Freed." Laxus's thumb skimmed his cheek.

"I…yeah," Freed murmured, feeling a sudden swell behind his breastbone. "That did hurt. It made me feel…so small. Even after he was dead."

Laxus jerked in a hiccough, and a tear slid down his cheek.

"C'mere," he said, spreading his arms.

Freed stared at the tears pooled in Laxus's eyes and moved forward as if it were a dream, letting Laxus pull him in and embrace him firmly against his bandaged chest. Freed was terrified of hurting him, but also so relieved to be held; the warmth surrounding him, Laxus's affection surrounding him.

"I'm sorry," Freed whispered against Laxus's shoulder, half-begging that Laxus couldn't hear him. "I'm sorry I lied."

"I'm sorry you felt you had to," Laxus whispered back. His hand came up into Freed's hair, keeping Freed close against him. "I don't want you to think you have to lie to make me happy."

"You don't want me to kill people."

"I don't want you to get hurt," Laxus corrected, pulling back so they could look at each other, but keeping his arms around Freed's waist. "I was scared you were doing it for the wrong reasons, trying to heal yourself, or because you didn't think you were worth anything better, or that you were going to end up crushed under shame and regret one day. I've only seen you kill people twice, and both times you looked so _dead._ Like you had to become someone else in order to finish them off. I didn't want that. That's the only reason why I asked you to stop that one time. I didn't like seeing you like that."

Freed blinked and moved his mouth, all sorts of things processing and reversing in his head.

"But you didn't look like that just now when you were telling me. You looked like you knew this was what you wanted. As long as you know that, I'm okay. If this is who you are and want to be, that's fine. I'll stick by you. But if I ever sense that you're hurting yourself in the process, I'll stop you."

"Laxus…"

"I'm so sorry, Freed. I'm sorry you carried this around for so long, thinking I wouldn't accept you. That's my fault."

"It's really not…" Freed drifted off, Laxus's hands at his waist looming up in his attention. Laxus was holding him, had cried for him, didn't want to see him in pain.

"Let me say it once and for all. Through all the hard times, I'm on your side, Freed. I'm always on your side. It doesn't matter what you do, or whether you regret it or not after. I'll be here for you. I promise I'll listen and do what I can to help if you need me. _Promise._"

* * *

Your words make Freed crumple, his face collapsing and his shoulders coming up. You pull him back in again immediately, arms solidly around him, and listen while he cries. You never knew how big a weight this was on him. All this time he's been carrying this fear, and you didn't know. You want to make up for it. You want him to know he never has to be afraid with you.

As he presses his face against your shoulder, you kiss his hair, moving gently over his scalp and pressing a kiss to his temple.

"It's okay," you murmur, and kiss his hair again. "I'm here."

They're the words he told you when he found you in that dungeon. You hadn't thought he was real; you hadn't really known what was happening. But Freed's voice in your ear saying he was there and everything would be okay reassured you. His fingers on your skin steadied you. Running a finger down his cheek and neck, you hope you can do the same.

* * *

"Who was it?" you ask me one day.

I look around at you (and you're far too handsome, Laxus, it's just not fair that I have to be distracted by you all the time). I'm completely boggled.

The trail—our first job just the two of us since you healed—bends and I stumble; you catch me.

"What conversation are we talking about?" I ask.

"In the infirmary," you say, because we both know what conversation that means. "You told me about… Someone tried to hurt the person you care about. Who?"

"Some vengeful individual. Why?"

"No, the person. The one you…you know. Loved."

I notice the past tense on there. _Loved._ Not sure if I still love this person or not. As if you're not willing to put those words in my mouth.

It feels like we've been dancing with each other ever since that day in the infirmary. Where you held me and kissed my hair and told me you didn't care that I'm a killer. It freed me, and we've been trading smiles since then. I've almost convinced myself I'm not imagining the extra _something_ in your eye when you look at me.

The day is beautiful and your gaze so sincere. I feel alive.

"Who else do I protect?" I ask, smiling at you.

"I don't know," you shrug.

Oh my gods, we're both scared, aren't we?

"You, baka," I say. "You're the only person I care about that much."

You look up at me, and I'm waiting for it, the startlement and the searching. I try to keep meeting your gaze, but I'm too embarrassed, and look back at the trail, but I'm smiling, and I know it's just as soft as all the things inside me.

"I am?" you say slowly.

"You always have been, Laxus," I say. "It's always been you."

* * *

The Raijinshuu were on a job for Blue Pegasus—an actual interesting one, with danger and nuance. Strength was involved, and strategy, giving the whole team something to do. They loved it.

At one point, it turned to fighting, and Laxus and Bickslow seemed particularly excited about it. Freed and Evergreen finished what they were doing, Freed carefully scrawling runes as she gave him directions, and then they ran to join in.

Laxus saw the explosion of magic aimed at Bickslow, but couldn't do anything; Freed saw it too, and tried to hurry, spells and opponents blocking his way.

Bickslow warded the blow but still flew backward, slamming into a tree, arm snapping between two trunks.

"Bicks!" Ever shouted, fighting her own opponent.

Freed was the only one not occupied, and he ran to help, Bickslow's enemy rising to strike again.

* * *

I watch in clear motion as another spell flies and slams against Bickslow's arm.

Blood flies everywhere.

I'm still running, but I'm not fast enough. I'm not there yet, not close enough to stop it. The sight of red, the sounds, the knowledge that this is very wrong…it changes me.

Suddenly I'm moving much faster.

I slam into the person's chest and send them to the ground. Another quick move, a rip of claws, and they're bleeding from the shoulder.

Glancing back, I see Bickslow shifting at the base of the tree. His arm is still attached, but it's bent at multiple wrong angles, he can't seem to move it, and there's a lot of blood. He's bleeding elsewhere too: from his forehead and his leg and his stomach. Ever and I weren't fast enough to join the fight.

I make eye contact with you. Not looking for permission, just seeking reassurance. But that you're still with me. That we're okay.

* * *

It's as if time slows for you as you look over your shoulder.

Bickslow is in a heap, but Ever's downed her opponent and is with him now. Freed has the person responsible on the ground, and that's when you realize he's looking at you. You meet his eyes, one red and one so black you can hardly see it. It's still him, even though it looks nothing like him. You'd know that green hair anywhere, and you'd know his scent, and beyond all of that, it's his posture, his expression, his soul.

You have a feeling what he's going to do.

You give him a smile before turning back to your opponents. You don't need to see it; death still makes you a little queasy sometimes. You've been in a war, but it was hard; afterward, you and Freed moved in together, sharing your bed, sharing everything, so he knows about your nightmares. He cradles you in the pre-dawn hours when you can't stop shaking. All the death, all the bodies that no longer move.

He protects you from it, and you protect him from himself.

You hear when he throws the person, the grunts and shoves of his fight. He's still there. Freed is still with you.

You're focused on your own fighting, but when you finish, you turn back and see green hair and sigh without knowing exactly why.

You check on Bickslow first—he's pretty beat-up, and semi-conscious but you kind of wish he weren't. A number of his fingers are shattered and his arm is broken above and below the elbow. Ever's mopping the blood off his face, and you crouch down, meeting his eyes.

"You're gonna be okay," you say, and he gives you a weak, bloody smile.

Then you send a brief charge into him and knock him out. It's a useful new skill Master Bob taught you.

You sense Freed a little behind you, and you rise and turn. He's back to his normal self now.

"Hello, beautiful," you say, touching his face, warm brown skin under your fingers. There's some red speckled on his lip, and you wipe it away, lingering your touch on his mouth, loving how his eyes are liquid as he watches you.

When you meet each other's gaze, his is needy and hopeful.

"Love you," you murmur, and kiss his forehead.

Freed closes his eyes and sighs.

"You're amazing," he whispers.

"I will always stand by you," you remind him. "Always."


End file.
